


Overrated Moon Dance

by anilla_writes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles, Cannon level violence/gore, Derek being an asshole, Humor, M/M, Stiles loves him anyway, Top Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anilla_writes/pseuds/anilla_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is an asshole. Except when he's not.</p><p>This is a post-season 3a AU now. If that makes sense ._.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overrated Moon Dance

 

 

 

 

Derek is an asshole. Not exactly a secret, but sometimes Stiles didn’t think people emphasized it enough. Derek is an _asshole_. In italics. Sometimes even in all caps, ASSHOLE, like that. Stiles had plenty of examples to back this up. Like when Derek slamed Stiles head into his own steering wheel. Or when he growled rude things at him like an antisocial dickwad.

Or take, for instance, when Stiles came home after twelve hellish hours of school plus a lacrosse game where he got his ribs stomped on, _followed_ by his jeep not starting because the twins were jerks too, and Derek was covered in mud, lying in the middle of Stiles bed.

"What the hell, dude!" he said, waving his arms in the general direction of the muddy stains all over his pillow and comforter. Actually that might be more than just mud, but he didn’t really want to think about it. "You couldn't have laid down a tarp first?"

Derek didn’t move, just lied there with his eyes trained on Stiles, breath shallow and weak, and okay, he did look a little like he was dying. But if he was going to crawl in here just to die he could have gone and done it in Stiles bathtub for easier clean up.

Right, maybe Stiles was a little bit of an asshole, too.

He dropped his lacrosse gear on the floor with a sigh. "What happened?"

Derek grimaced and started growling when Stiles approached him slowly, but he always did that when he was hurt so whatever, Stiles didn't pay it any mind. He tugged on Derek's arm, urging him until he rolled over, and yep lots of blood. He was totally going to have to burn his entire bed because of this. There was a rather large gaping hole in the flesh just under Derek's left pectoral. He remembered when he used to feel squeamish about the thought of cutting off Derek's arm and now here he was, all desensitized towards gore. Like a champ. Actually, was that bone? On second thought he was totally going to throw up, _ohmygod_.

"What the fuck happened?"

Derek crumpled his face in a painful grimace, not verbalizing anything because he was helpful like that.

"Why aren't you healing?" Stiles said, poking the outside area of the wound in a strange sort of fascination despite the fact that his stomach rolled at the sight. Derek growled, again, _so surprising_. "If you can snarl you can speak."

"There was an alpha. I took care of it," Derek said, breathless and quiet.

"Okaaaayyy. So you're going to heal, right?"

Derek responded too quietly for him to follow. He leaned in, tilting his ear closer to Derek's mouth for optimal hearing. "Come again?"

"Alpha claw," Derek mumbled.

Stiles cocked his head, confused, before he jumped with realization. "There's a claw still inside? Oh gross." Stiles started to back up, because seriously gross, dude.

 

"Stiles!" Derek hissed. "Get it out."

Stiles waved his arms around a bit in frustration. "Why would you come here? Scott's mom is a nurse! I'm an Adderall junky. Do you see these shaky hands?" He held them up inches from Derek's face, for emphasis. "Do you want hands like these to operate on you?"

"Stiles." This time there was more of a pleading note to his hiss. Stiles sighed.

"I'll go get the first aid kit."

 

++++

 

It took a disgusting twenty-three minutes of Stiles digging around Derek's chest with his bare fingers before he was able to locate and pull out the broken-off werewolf's claw. Derek passed out immediately after, and Stiles took an extra minute to pour some antiseptic over the wound and slap on some gauze before washing up in the bathroom. He only debated drawing a penis on Derek's face with a sharpie for a second. A minute, tops.

He called Scott, who didn't answer, because Scott never answered. So Stiles shot off a quick text instead that summarized the situation as best he could, complete with exclamations marks and unhappy emoticons. That done, he went down to the kitchen to dig out a Tupperware container to store the (dead?) alpha's claw inside. He'd pass it on to Scott next time he saw him or give it to Deaton.

By then he was feeling a little less queasy so he popped a bag of popcorn and dropped onto the couch, flipping on the TV as he went. He kind of wanted to fuck around on his laptop but it was upstairs on his desk and Derek looked like he needed a bit of a rest, so he zoned out on a marathon of the Walking Dead instead. The next thing he knew there was a loud bang as the front door slammed shut and he was jerking upright, an empty popcorn bag stuck to his cheek and a stupid zombie getting it's brains kicked out. On TV, but for a minute he was confused and thought it was happening in his hall.

"Hey son," his dad said, freezing in the doorway. "I didn't think you were home. Where's the jeep?"

Stiles took a moment to peel the popcorn bag off his face before answering. "Had a _little_ problem with the battery. Scott and I'll get it tomorrow."

His dad hummed, like he knew there was more to the story but he didn't want to push, to which Stiles was grateful. Telling his father that it was the twins who sabotaged it on purpose would lead to questions about the motivation for _why_ the twins did it and that would lead to Stile's very minor part in the prank he pulled on them, which would lead to questions about-- well, in short, it was better just not to go there.

"Alright," his dad said finally. "Pizza for dinner?"

Stiles gave him his _I'm not going for that bullshit_ face. "I'll grill up some chicken."

His dad sighed, but knew better than to protest. "I'm going to go grab a quick shower."

Stiles was in the middle of washing off the chicken breasts in the sink when he heard his dad's shout. Heart pounding, Stiles ran up the stairs two at a time, trying not to let his mind imagine horrible things happening to his father. It was only when he reached the top and saw his dad staring into his bedroom that he remembered Derek.

Riiigghhhttt. Probably should have remembered that earlier.

"Wanna tell me what the hell happened here?" his dad asked, sweeping his hand in an _‘explain and it better be good’_ gesture that had Stiles clearing his throat nervously.

"Uh," he stalled, approaching his dad with his palms up in a placating gesture. He glanced into his room, expecting to see a growly werewolf rolling around in his bed, but there was no one there. In Derek's wake he'd left the bed a muddy, rumpled mess, and on the floor and windowsill there were very generous smears of blood. It looked like Stiles had been sacrificing animals in there.

His dad was still staring at him, waiting patiently for a reply.

Derek was an asshole.

++++

 

Three weeks later Stiles was lying on his _new_ mattress (he really had burned the old one in a ritual that he made Scott come to, just because), and had started to drift off to sleep when the sound of his window being pulled up in it's tracks had him jumping out of bed. Or rather falling out of bed with his sheets wrapped around his legs. He flopped around on the floor like a mermaid. Er, merman. A manly one.

He needn't have panicked, however, as it was only Derek sulking in with his stupid leather jacket and his stupid spiky hair and his stupid everything.

"What the hell, man?" Stiles hissed, still working to free himself from the sheet cocoon. Dark as it was he could just make out Derek's lips twitching up, obviously finding Stile's panic _so hilarious hahaha._ Jerk.

"Get dressed, we're going out," Derek said, and his voice was definitely amused.

Stiles ripped the sheets off with a victorious grunt. "Uh? No thanks, dude."

"That wasn't a request," Derek said, walking over to his dresser and pulling open the top drawer. Stiles scrambled over just in time to slam it shut before Derek could see anything. Because he may or may not have a couple magazines hidden in there that are totally not porn or anything. Derek just raised his eyebrow in response.

"What the fuck, it is," he glanced over to his alarm clock, "two-fifteen in the morning. You can't just come in here at two in the morning and start making demands."

"Get dressed or I'll drag you outside in your Hunger Games boxers."

Stiles propped his elbow up against his dresser and leaned his weight into it. At least he wasn't wearing his Hello Kitty ones. That he totally didn't own.

"See, you think I'm embarrassed, but I'm not even a little. Katness is awesome."

As Stiles was talking, Derek calmly took out his phone. When the little white light on the back flashed all the sudden Stiles jerked back in surprise. Did Derek just _take a picture_ of him? _In his boxers_?

"Oh my god," Stiles said, grabbing for the phone, but of course that was completely useless against werewolf speed. Derek held it up in one hand while the other pushed Stiles away by his _face_ before Stiles could even finish swinging his arm around. "That is not cool. That is so uncool. What are you doing now?"

"Texting it to everyone," Derek said, thumb swiping across the phone. It was the most ominous thumb swiping Stiles had ever seen in his life.

"Uhg. Fine. Okay, I'll go with you if you promise to delete it," Stiles said sulkily. _Everyone_ to Derek would include Peter, and Uncle Creeper didn't need to see that.

Derek let go of him with a very self-satisfied expression. Jeeze, the guy couldn’t have just asked nicely?

Stiles grabbed some crumpled-up jeans off his floor and pulled them over his totally awesome Hunger Games boxers and then threw on a couple layers of shirts. Meanwhile Derek jumped out the window like the uncivilized savage he was, but Stiles took a moment to leave his dad a note (just in case, he was _really_ hoping they'd be back before he'd be missed) then snuck down the stairs and out the backdoor like normal person. He waited until he was buckled up in Derek's Camaro before opening his mouth again.

"Going to tell me where we're going?"

Derek grunted neutrally.

"Well, should we get Scott and Isaac? Probably who you should have gone to first."

"I need a human," Derek said, and gee thanks, that wasn't cryptic as hell.

"For?"

"Breaking threw a mountain ash barrier."

"Okay, whoa. Back it up Mr. Growly Face. Where the fuck are we going?"

Derek drove on in silence.

"I'm serious. You're telling me where we're going or I'm going to scream 'fire' like a little girl the moment we get out of the car."

More silence.

"Come on, dude. Just tell me."

Ten more seconds of silence followed, because Derek was a drama queen who had to play up dramatic silences every chance he could get. Then finally he answered, "The Argents." like it was no big deal, like he was lazily picking from a lunch menu instead of talking about walking into a hunter's fortress of doom.

"The- Jesus, you want me to help you break into _the Argent's_ house _?_ No. No, nope, no way. I will get a bullet to the head before I can even say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

Derek didn't appear to be getting the message because he just kept driving.

"What do you even want from there?"

"A box."

"A box? Dude. Dude. I will buy you a box," Stiles said while trying to worm his fingers into his jean pocket without drawing Derek's attention. He was hoping he could send off a quiet text to Scott before this got too out of hand.

Derek gave him an unimpressed look, his bushy eyebrows lowering half an inch.

"Look, maybe we could just ask Allison for it? Tomorrow at school. I won't even mention you-"

"Stiles," Derek growled his _shut-up-cause-I-say-so_ growl. Stiles had just opened up a new text to Scott when the car suddenly braked, jerking Stiles forward in his seat so suddenly he automatically braced himself against the dashboard despite the seatbelt doing it’s job by digging into his aforementioned stomped on ribs. Ow.

"You can give me the phone, or I can take it from you," Derek said, reaching out his hand in an expectant gesture. Stiles eyed it for moment, debating.

"What phone?" he said, followed quickly by, "okay okay!" when Derek lunged over the gap, eyes glowing blue. Stiles watched, miserable, as Derek slid the phone into an inside pocket of his jacket.

"You can't just steal people's property like that. You know what you are? You're a bully. A jerky bully with no manners at all."

 Derek didn't say anything as he accelerated forward again.

"How'd you even know I had it out?" Stiles asked.

"I could hear the hum of the screen."

"What? No way." No way werewolf hearing was good enough to pick up a quiet hum over the monster roar of the car's engine. Right? "…Really?"

Derek's mouth quirked up. He was stupidly handsome when he did that. And whoa, _what the fuck, brain_ , Stiles thought as he shifted lower into his seat. Him, his brain, and his dick all needed to have a serious talk someday about inappropriateness. That was way uncalled for.

"I saw the light reflected in your window."

Stiles blinked, it was always a little jarring when Derek volunteered a bit conversation without Stiles having to pull it out of him. "What?"

"The phone," he clarified.

"Oh," Stiles mumbled, looking out said window. "So you couldn't hear it?"

Derek shrugged in a non-answer. Stiles figured he'd never really know the extent of Derek's natural-born wolf abilities, if only because he had the conversational skills of a turkey.

A few miles of silence passed with Stiles bouncing his knees nervously. As usual, he was the one to finally break the silence. "You know, Scott can break through mountain ash all by himself."

He glanced over but Derek didn't seem to be paying attention. "Just saying."

Still no response, although Derek's jaw did seem a little more clenched than usual.

"So what's so special about this box? Is it a magic box?"

No response.

"Come on, are you at least going to tell me what it looks like?"

"It's red."

"Wow," Stiles said, doing a few sarcastic slow claps. "Just wow. Description of the year, man."

Derek remained quiet.

"Okay. So is the box magic? Oh M Gee, is it a cure for sourwolfness?"

Derek flinched, suspiciously. Stiles sat up. "What, seriously?"

"No," Derek snarled, eyes flashing bright blue again. Stiles had said _something_ to get that reaction.

"No, come on. What is it? Is it like a magic mood altering thing? Are you stealing it so you can compete for Mr. Congeniality?"

A pained expression came over Derek's face, but that could be anything from annoyance to indigestion. Hard to tell with him.

"Seriously, would you just tell me?"

"It's a cure."

"A cure? For…" Stile's eyes widened. "Oh. A _cure_? For lycanthropy? For real?"

 Derek didn't say anything, but this was more a silence of confirmation than dismissal. Stiles had been around Mr. DarkAndBrooding long enough to tell the difference. He whistled in a low pitch.

"Huh. So is it, like, a consensual cure? Or is it, like, surprise, you've just been cured from being a werewolf. Non consensual curing sounds kind of bad, I guess. But what if someone, like, wanted the cure? I once told Scott I'd try and help him find a cure."

"Stiles. Shut. Up."

"Seriously, though, where the hell did Mr. Argent get this cure? How did you get this information? What are you going to do with it once you have it? Do you want to become a real boy like the rest of us?"

Derek growled deeply from his chest, and there went Stile's dick again. Not cool, little dick bro. Not cool.

"Does it really work?" Stiles asked quietly, a bit more serious.

"Maybe," Derek said, pulling onto the Argent's street. "But it's less than a five percent survival rate."

Stiles frowned. "Oh. So not really."

 

++++

 

The break in to the Argents house went as followed:

Derek shoved stiles over the mountain ash line, barely waiting for him to scratch out a gap with his shoe before bounding towards one of the north facing windows. In the time it took Stiles to catch up to him, he'd somehow managed to jimmy open the lock and slide inside like a stealthy cat. Stiles could only watch helplessly as he disappeared down the hallway while he himself got stuck with his butt hanging halfway out the window.

By the time he'd managed to wiggle his way in all the way, he'd thumped his foot against the frame, knocked over a potted plant with a loud crash, and got the sleeve of his flannel shirt caught on a nail.

So far it was going pretty well.

He looked up to see an arrow pointed straight at his head.

Okay, maybe not.

" _Stiles_?" Alison said with utter surprise. She lowered her bow a second later, almost reluctantly.

"Uh…. hey, Allison. You should really think about being Katness for Halloween."

She blinked, and he could practically see the loading bar fill up as it took her brain a moment to process. "What are you doing here?" She shout-whispered, coming over to help him right himself. She eyed the knocked over plant with such a confused expression, like it had suddenly gained sentience and asked her to call it 'Bob'. He had to bite back a giggle. The nerves were getting to him.

"So, I can totally explain," he whispered-shouted back, straightening his shirt over his stomach.

"I should hope so," said another voice from he hallway just as a light flicked on, momentarily blinding him.

"Oh hey, Mr. Argent," Stiles said, finally giving into his urge to laugh, nervous and high. "Is that a new Colt 45? Looks good on you!"

It was about that time that the sound of screeching tires could be herd, and Stiles turned his head just in time to see Dereks' taillights disappearing down the street.

Derek had left him. Alone. With the trigger-happy Argents.

Derek is an asshole.

"So, uh," Stiles said, withering under the glare of Mr. Argent. "This might be a bad time, but do you think I get a ride?"

++++

 

Allison, bless her heart, did drive Stiles home. After, of course, a two and a half hour long interrogation by her father. And by interrogation, he meant the whole shebang, including a very bright light in a dark room and a revolver making a frequent appearance. The point was he made it back just before sunrise, in enough time to sneak in and rip up the note he left to his father, destroying the evidence completely. His father's alarm clock was just starting to chime when he snuck back under the covers. Phew. Safe.

"Nice try, Stiles," his dad said, passing by outside his room. "You're busted."

"What?" he squawked, jumping out of bed and pulling open his door. His dad stood there with his arms crossed and an unamused look on his face. Stiles tried to look unassuming as he leaned against the doorframe. "What madness is this? I haven't done anything wrong. Been here all night. Got up once to get a glass of water, did I wake you? Cause I was getting water. And that's all. Just some water."

"Dial it down, son," his dad said, clearly not falling for it.

"Okay, but, like. It wasn't my fault."

His dad shrugged before turning and continuing down to the bathroom. "Stiles, it never is," he said over his shoulder before shutting the door. "Get ready for school, I'm not excusing you."

 

++++

 

Since Stile's jeep was still out of commission, Scott came and picked him up for school. Which meant Stiles had to ride on the back of his motocross bike, holding onto his best bud's chest like a girl, even as they pulled into the school parking lot. Yeah, there really was no way for that to look cool.

"So Derek told you he was after some kind of cure," Scott said as soon as his helmet was off. Stiles had taken a few steps back, stretching his arms casually, trying to regain some of his dignity.

"Yeah. Well, more like a death sentence. But there's a very small chance that it could cure a werewolf, I guess."

"And what did Allison's dad say?"

"He wasn't exactly chatty. He mostly just talked about having a gun and a shovel knowing how to use them both."

Scott scrunched his nose sympathetically. Stiles had already explained everything in a rush on his (dad's) phone, this was actually their third time going through it. But sometimes Scott needed things explained to him a few times before they actually permeated his wolfie skull.

"Why didn't he just chase after Derek?"

Stiles paused in the middle of fixing his backpack's strap. "Huh. I don't know. He was too distracted by my charm? Maybe that was Derek's plan all along, me to get caught so he could get away."

"Something seems off," Scott said in the understatement of the year. "What did Allison have to say?"

"She didn't know anything about it. Said she'd talk to her father and try to find out."

This seemed to make Scott unhappy, if his sad little frown was anything to go by. He tended to cycle between happy and sad when it came to all things Allison, Stiles would give it a month, tops, before all Allison things became happy things again. Until then, it was Stiles' duty to help his bro through the tough times. He slapped Scott on the shoulder, companionably, and smiled. "Wanna hang out after school? We could go steal my phone back from Derek."

"I have to be at work by six."

"Totally doable," Stiles said.

"Who is?" said the voice of a strawberry blond angel. He turned to see Lydia flipping her hair over her shoulder while simultaneously messing with her phone.

"Have you seen Allison?" Scott asked in a rush, sounding nervous. She looked him over a moment before shrugging.

"She says she wants to talk to you both in the library later. Meet her in the reference section during lunch."

"Well that sounds very-spy like of her," Stiles said, frowning thoughtfully. "Any reason why she couldn't just text him that?"

Lydia shrugged again, disinterest already shaping on her face.

"I think Allison is taking 'How To Be Super Dramatic' lessons from Derek'," Stiles stage whispered to Scott, but when Stiles looked at his face he could tell Scott wasn't paying any attention either, lost in his own little Scott world.

++++

 

Stiles was early to the meeting at the library, and without his phone to play Ninja Fruit or to google animal penises on, he wandered around in hopes of finding entertainment. He discovered a book wedged in the sofa chair over by the American History section. It didn't have a library barcode, just a normal one, and it was tittled "Lovers On Pirate Island", so one of those trashy romantic novels found at the grocery store. He sat down and thumbed through it gleefully. He got to the page that said, "her chest rose with every passionate breath as his member slipped inside her flower opening" before cracking up completely. He thought about keeping it for the entertainment value, but he hadn't brought his backpack and the last thing his reputation needed was for him to get caught sneaking around with a romance novel. Plus, the owner might be looking for it, and Stiles didn’t want to be a dick so he regretfully tucked it back between the chair cushion and armrest.

It was about that time he heard fierce whispering coming from a few rows over and he made his way there, recognizing one of the voices as Scott's.

"…especially not Stiles," Allison said and Stiles froze for a second, making sure to stay out of sight.

"I know," Scott replied to her. "I haven't' said anything to anyone, I swear. So does that mean, you don't-"

"Let's not," Allison interrupted. "I do want to… discuss what happened, but we should talk about it later. Not at school."

An uncomfortable prickly feeling invaded Stile's chest and he decided he really shouldn't sit here ease dropping on his best friend (least of all because Scott was bound to hear or smell him any minute) so he made a bit of a scuffle noise with his feet as he walked around to meet them.

Scott froze, eyes locked on Stiles as Allison's gaze darted down at the carpet where they stayed fixed.

Okay, either Stiles was crazy, or there was definitely something weird going on between them.

"So what's up?" Stiles asked innocently enough.

"What? Nothing!" Scott said just as Allison said, "What do you mean?"

Both their faces went as red as a fire hydrant.

Super suspicious.

"Uh… You find anything out about that box?"

"The box!" Allison said, a bit too loud for a library. "Yes! Right! Of course. Yeah."

Scott was now starring at a spot behind Stile's shoulder, a gleam of sweat forming at his brow.

"...So what'd you find out?" he asked after no more information appeared forthcoming.

"Oh. Um. There was a charm in the box that supposedly could break the curse of a werewolf."

"So Derek was right. Where did your dad get it?" Stiles asked, cocking his head as he stole a few analytical glances between them. "And why do you think Derek wanted it?"

Scott had started to inch away from Allison and towards him, almost like he was in slow motion. He stopped as soon as Allison spoke, tensing his whole body.

"That, I'm not sure about. If I had to guess, I think my dad might have been fighting with another werewolf pack a few weeks ago. He could have gotten the charm from them, but that's just a total guess."

A few weeks ago fit with the timeline of when Derek came over to his house half dead. It was likely he'd gone after the charm by himself, almost got killed, and then decided to spend possibly his last night on earth rolling his filth around in Stile's bed. Made sense.

"So is your dad going to go after it?" Scott asked Allison, eyes still trained over Stile's shoulder. Stile's actually turned around to make sure there wasn't, like, a circus clown doing balloon tricks behind him or something with the way Scott seemed so interested in it, but there was just the usual rows of books.

"I don't think so," she said, fixing her eyes back on the carpet. Seriously, what happened between them? Stile's natural curiosity was starting to scratch inside his skull.

After a moment where she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, Allison continued, "Derek likely already destroyed the charm. There wouldn't be much point."

"So… what next? Do we have to worry about your dad retaliating?"

Allison shook her head. "I don't think so. I… kind of got the feeling my dad might have been the one to leak the rumor about it to start with. I can't be sure."

"Why would he do that?" Scott asked.

"I don't think he… wanted it." Allison said, slow and pensive, almost like she'd just come to the conclusion herself. Stiles thought he might understand.

"I think I get it," he filled in. "He didn't want it, but being a hunter, he didn't feel like he could destroy it himself either. So he got Derek to do it."

"That's possible. He doesn't even seem upset about it."

Stiles waved his hands around a minute as a thought came to him. "Then why did he spend all that time interrogating me?"

A small, amused smile flicked across Allison's lips. "I think he was just having a little bit of fun with you."

"What? Not cool! I'm just a poor little human, he should go pick on Isaac or something!"

At the mention of Isaac's name both his friends tensed so hard it looked like they were turning into turtles, their shoulder's rising practically to their ears. Really odd.

"P-plus I think he wanted to make sure his plan worked," Allison stuttered, her voice about half an octave higher than usual.

"Are you guys-" Stiles started to ask but was interrupted by the bell. Lunch was over.

"I better get going," Allison said just as Scott was stammering, "I've got a test I can't be late for."

Then they both proceeded to make beelines for different exits.

"Okay, see you later than?" Stiles said, but he doubted either of them were listening.

"Stiles," Scott said, pausing at the door.

"Yeah buddy?"

"I uh. I." Scott stuttered for a moment before clearing his throat. "I talked to the twins, they promise to have your jeep working before school's over."

Stiles had a feeling that wasn't what he wanted to say, but he let it go.

"Awesome, thanks."

 

++++

 

 

The twins stopped him in the hall after school. And by stopped him, Stiles meant snuck up and yanked the hood of his hoodie so hard it nearly ripped his head clean off. He wheezed for a moment, rubbing his abused throat while glaring. They looked at him with identical, infuriating smirks.  

"What do you want?" he asked, voice a little hoarse.

"Is that anyway to talk to someone who brought you a gift?" Ethan said as Aidan held out his hand and shook a set of keys. And not just any set of keys; he recognized the TMNT key chain that Scott had given to him when he was seven.

"Wow, my very own keys. It's what I've always wanted," Stiles deadpanned. Aidan's smirk widened. "So you're practicing your pit pocketing skills, or what?"

"You're jeep's all fixed," Ethan said, moving in closer like the creepy mouth-breather he was.

"You mean the Jeep you broke? Ah, you shouldn't have."

"Right, because you didn't totally have it coming." Aidan snorted.

"Something about putting wolfsbane powder in our lacrosse uniforms?" Ethan said in a mocking tone.

"Okay, whoa, wait a minute. Who says that was me?"

"Oh I don't' know. How about the way you're heart's ratcheting up in your chest right now?" Aidan said, poking Stiles' chest, presumably right where his heart was beating.

Stiles frowned, but remained silent. With werewolves, the more you said the more you incriminated yourself.

"So here's the deal, Stiles. We're ready to call a truce."

"But on one condition."

"And that would be?" Stiles asked, bracing himself for any number of awful things.

"You have to talk to Scott about letting us into the pack."

He didn't respond right away. He didn't really want them in the 'pack', so he totally wasn't going to do that. But maybe there was some middle ground he could meet them at here.

The thing was, he had sprinkled wolfsbane in their uniforms because Lydia and he had been worried about their aggression lately. So they'd devised a plan to keep the twins from playing in last game. They'd been honest to god thinking that the twins would freak out and rip the head off of some poor kid of the opposing team.

"Here's my counter-offer," Stiles said, snatching his keys out of Aidan's hands. It was a positive sign that Aidan actually let him have them. "I won't say anything negative about you for a week, as long as you behave and don't go committing terrible acts of violence or anything."

"That's it?" Ethan asked, clearly unimpressed.

"I'll also tell him we have a truce."

The twins exchanged a look, one that involved intense staring and eyebrow raising (which lead Stiles to believe they were doing some kind of creepy telepathic twin communication) before turning back to him and grinning.

"Alright, deal. Here he comes now," Aidan said. Stiles turned around, asking "Where" but when he turned back they had disappeared. Creepers.

They hadn't been lying, though, because a few seconds later Scott appeared at the top of the stairs, smiling at Stiles when their eyes locked.

"Hey," he said, bumping shoulders as he fell in step with Stiles.

"Twins fixed my jeep."

"Good," Scott said. He held the door open for Stiles (and two pretty blond girls and the guy behind them) as they exited the building.

"They're still trying to get into your quote unquote pack. I mean, it's kind of sad. If they weren't for the fact that they're raging homicidal dicks, I might actually feel sad for them. Like lost little puppies. Scott, you listening?"

Stiles turned to his friend, only to realize he had stopped a few steps back. "Scott? Buddy? Something wrong?"

"I uh…" Scott's gaze was fixed on something in the distance, and when Stiles hunted it out he saw Isaac, frozen as well, with a quickly reddening face.

"I just remembered something I was suppose to do," Scott said in a rush, and then took off in the opposite direction.

"What?" Stiles asked, genuinely confused. He could see Isaac turn tail and bolt in the opposite direction. If that wasn't weird enough, he spotted Allison exiting the north building and when she spotted Isaac she tripped backwards, rushing back into the building. What the heck was going on?

 

++++

 

Going it alone, Stiles drove out to The Werewolf Warehouse, as he liked to call it. Also known as Derek's place. When he got there the door was unlocked so he let himself in, making sure to be extra noisy just incase he startled Derek. Last thing he needed was to be mistaken for a hunter and have his throat ripped open.

"Der-ek," he shouted, slow and drawn out just to annoy. He jumped when a figure stepped out of the shadows like some Freddy Krueger bullshit. The figure being Derek, of course, because he apparently liked to learn his social graces from serial killers.

"Jesus _Christ_ , give a guy a little warning, would you?" Stiles put a hand over his racing heart and scowled. Derek looked at him with amusement dancing in his eyes and an upturned curl to his lips. Stiles couldn't help the automatic reaction of his eyes darting down to Derek's clothed chest. It's not like he'd been thinking about maybe walking in on Derek working out with his shirt off, and seeing his chest all sweaty and his muscles all bulked up and swollen, or anything.

"Anyone ever tell you you're an asshole?" Stiles asked, hopping up on the oak table by the bay window. Wait, he'd said 'asshole' and not 'god of sexiness' right? No, yeah, he'd said asshole. Phew.

As was typical with him, Derek answered non-verbally with a raised eyebrow and a hint of pointy teeth creeping into his smile.

"Seriously, dude. And thanks for leaving me behind at the, Argents by the way. Real classy."

"That was my fault?" Derek asked, sounding like he actually thought it _wasn't_.

"Uh, yeah! Ever heard of no man left behind?"

This time, Derek rolled his eyes and walked over to the kitchen area. His easy dismissal was proof of how many fucks he didn't give.

"Seriously. And you confiscated my phone from me like I was a little kid so I couldn't even call for help."

"Want a coke?" Derek asked, setting one down beside him on the table without waiting for an answer. Stile's brow furrowed as he looked at it. Derek giving him stuff couldn't be good, could it? He wondered if Derek had done something to it as part of an experiment. Still, he couldn't remember the last time Derek had given him, well, anything, and maybe the touchy werewolf would get his feelings hurt if Stile's didn't accept it? Man, life with Derek was always complicated.

"I never asked you to come in with me," Derek said, settling down on the opposite side of the window. “And I wasn't the one banging around and making noise like a dog with a bucket stuck on his head."

Stiles coughed to hide the smile that wanted to form on his lips. Seriously, what self-respecting werewolf comes up with a simile like that? He tapped his finger on the metal tab before opening his coke with a hiss of escaped pressure.

"I think something's up with Scott and Allison," Stiles said conversationally as he took a sip.

"They're embarrassed around each other?" Derek said.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Stiles asked.

"Hormones got to them."

Stiles frowned. “What does that mean?”

"They had a threesome with Isaac." Derek said out of no where, calm as you please, which prompted Stile's to do a literal spit-take. _Oh god what?_

"What? _What_? _What what?_ " Stiles said, sounding a bit like a clucking chicken with every "what" that stuttered out of his mouth. He was lucky to even get that word out, considering his brain was currently throwing a thousand (mostly disturbing) thoughts around like exploding balls of confetti.

"A threesome," Derek replied, way too fucking conversationally, like he hadn't just shaken Stile's world upside-down. "It's like when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, but with an extra person."

Okay. Derek was being condescending. That was a good, normal thing. He'd take that as a sign that the world hadn't ended just yet. "Are you _serious?_ How would you even know that?"

"I could smell it all over them," Derek paused, glancing over to Stiles. "Must have been some _really_ kinky sex." He leaned forward and leered.

"Okay, ew?" It was like everything out of Derek's mouth was creating a new loop of _what the fuck_ 's in Stile's mind. "How could- who was- no wait, never mind, I don't want to know."

This was one of the most scandalizing things he had ever heard in his entire life. And he dealt with supernatural shit on an every day basis. It wouldn't even be so shocking, he reflected, if Scott hadn't been involved. Have you _seen_ him with girls? He had about as much game as a Jersey Shore guido at a ballroom dance.

"I didn't even know he liked them both," Stiles said. He looked down and frowned when he saw his shirt covered with a mist of soda. Right. Spit take. He should find a tissue or something.

"It's less of a sexual orientation thing, more a werewolf thing," Derek explained, and now that Stiles was less scandalized, and more worried about his sticky shirt he had better observational skills to notice that Derek was enjoying the fuck out of this. There was literally a glint in his eye. Like a freaking Disney villain. What the hell.

"What's that even mean?"

Derek paused dramatically before leaning over and saying, "Fall is werewolf mating season."

And then he wiggled his big, bushy eyebrows at Stiles like two dancing caterpillars. The sight was so uncharacteristic of Derek it startled a bark of laughter out of Stiles. Holy crap, he would pay to see Derek do that again.

"So does that mean you're all in heat or something?" he asked, honestly curious.

Derek leaned back, his face returning to its usual blank expression. "It bothers you that they had a threesome?"

Stiles shrugged. It wasn't the threesome that bugged him. He didn't really know what it was. It'd take some processing time for him to know how he felt about the whole thing.

"I guess not."

Derek was quiet for a minute while Stiles gave up on finding something to clean himself up with (he had glanced around the room only to find no tissue boxes, and that was about the extent he was willing to go). Instead he wiped his hand down his shirt a couple times. Good as new.

"Wish you'd been invited?" Derek asked.

"Okay, totally gross, dude. Thinking about Scott having sex is like thinking about my dad having sex. It is just wrong."

If Stiles was entirely honest with himself, he could admit to feeling a little bit of jealousy. First, he'd sort of lost Scott to Allison. Which, fine, that's how romances went, friends tended to be put on the back burner for a while. Stiles was okay with that.

But with Isaac… well it kind of felt like Scott had replaced him as a best friend. It was petty as fuck, and he would deny it to anyone who asked, but there was a part of him that couldn't help feeling that insecurity. Now Scott had gone off and had this… moment… with both of them. Stiles sighed, he felt kind of awful for being jealous. He should be happy for Scott. How many people can brag about having a threesome? Yeah, he was going to be happy for them, damnit.

Stiles was brought back to himself when he realized that Derek had been creepily staring at him without blinking for at least fourth-five seconds now. Except it was more than his usual creepy stare, there was an intensity to this one he couldn't quite place. His brain automatically went the dirty route, and suddenly he was imagining Derek staring at him like that while on his knees, just before leaning in to lick Stiles'-

Whoa, brain. Not the time. Stile's heart started beating faster in his chest, his face flushing until his ears felt hot. _Get it together_ , he thought to himself.

Derek's nostrils faired and he looked away. "You better go."

Stiles was at a loss for what to say. Had Derek heard his heart? Dumb question, but had he somehow known what Stiles was thinking? "Yeah, okay," he squeaked out, which was basically equivalent to him holding a giant sign above his head saying _I was totally fantasizing about you._

He hopped down off the table not knowing if he should just leave his soda there, or take it with him; and what a ridiculous dilemma, he picked the damn thing up just so he wouldn't keep staring at it like an idiot. He got all the way to the door before he heard Derek call his name softly. He turned around, head cocked with inquiry and yelped as a square object was promptly thrown at his head. He managed to catch his phone, just barely, with his free hand but it meant spilling more soda on himself.

"What the hell, I could have dropped it!" he said waving his hands around for emphasis (and spilling more soda. He totally should have left it on the table.)

Derek shrugged, unconcerned.

"Seriously, why are you such an asshole?"

An expression flashed over Derek's face too quick for Stiles to be able to analyze it. "Why do you voluntarily hang out with assholes?"

"I don't- urg, never mind," Stiles said, throwing his hands up before turning and fleeing.

He kind of wanted to stay mad at Derek, build up a good rant before the next time he saw Scott and all that, but as soon as he got in his car and turned his phone on he couldn't stop a silly grin forming on his face. A new wallpaper had been set. Instead of Iron Man, there was now a grainy image of him with a dear-in-the-headlights expression firmly in place, leaning against his dresser in nothing but his boxers. Stiles snorted in delight, it seemed like Derek was developing more of a sense of humor every day.

 

 

 

++++++

 

That night Stiles had a weird sex dream. It involved the usual weird dream logic in that he was a couch and Allison and Isaac were licking him while Scott howled at the moon. As bizarre as it was he still woke up with half a chub and a niggling desire to rub one out. But hey, he was an eighteen-year-old male, so he didn’t fret it that much.

When Scott, Allison, Isaac and himself intersected in the hallway the next day they all promptly turned tail and headed off in different directions.

 

++++++

 

Trouble comes to Beacon Hills about as often as an annoying new pop star is born in Hollywood. That is to say, often.

Sometimes it wasn't so bad, little bit of danger here, little bit of kicking ass there. He got to be part of something bigger than everyday life. He got to have amazing adventures with his best friend.

But most the time, it sucked. Most the time, it was painfully personal. And he was starting to worry that he was losing himself, more and more. Afraid he was getting too far lost in the darkness.

He didn't even remember picking up the rock.

It was like watching someone else perform the action. His mind was a complete blank, but at the same time he knew it was him smashing it into the creature's face over and over and over again. It was dead already, one of the twin’s claws had finished it off, but still. That sick fuck- it had-

" _Stiles,_ " Scott said at the same time a firm grip was stilling his arm. Stiles struggled to break free, he wanted to pulverize this thing that mimicked other people. He wanted to destroy any hint that it ever- that it had used- that she-

"Stiles, come on. Leave it. It's over. It's over," Scott was saying and the world was blurring — or no, he was crying? His throat hurt, too. He was shouting. The rage burned hot inside him. He tried to shake Scott off, he wasn't finished, he still wanted to- he still.

He collapsed, all the energy rushing out of him at once like a deflated balloon. It was over, and he wasn't going to get what he wanted, ever. It was over now.

Scott held him close with one arm, letting Stiles sob into his shoulder. He didn't care that the others were all watching him, seeing him like this. Lydia and Allison, and Isaac too. Derek was around somewhere, and the twins. He didn't care. Let them see. He was too tired and heartbroken to care.

"My mom's still dead," Stiles choked out.

Scott pulled him in closer, his voice soft when he spoke. "I know, Stiles. I'm so sorry."

He doesn't know how long he stayed like that, feeling raw and numb all at once. Every time he closed his eyes he could still see the creature wearing his mother's face, smiling softly, just like she used to. The thing had stolen the memories right out of his head. It was his fault his mother's likeness had been used like that. The thought made him want to puke.

"Stiles," Scott said, and his name broke through to him, bringing him back to the world outside his stormy mind. He felt disoriented, like suddenly teleporting into a room and noticing for the first time there were sights and sounds all around him. The cold wind on his face, the rustling of dead leaves, the strong smell of geosmin in the soil all became overwhelming to his senses.

"Stiles," Scott repeated, a little more urgently this time. "We gotta deal with the body. Your dad's team is still combing the woods, remember? We gotta deal with this before they find us."

He understood, logically, that they needed to act, and quickly, but still he couldn't move. Never had the term 'rooted to the spot' applied to him more.

"Stiles," Scott said, shaking him, and that helped a little, grounded him.

"Okay," Stiles said. He still couldn't move.

Suddenly there was a warm, firm grip on the back of his neck and Stiles pushed back into as if on instinct.

"I'll take care of him, you take care of that," Derek said, and Stiles could see out of the corner of his eye Derek nodding towards the mutilated remains.

Derek led him out of the clearing, his hand never leaving the back of Stile's neck. They walked down a hill of slick leaves, past an outcrop of mossy rocks, over a rotting tree, down again. He wanted to ask where they were going but the words wouldn't form. Didn't matter, it wasn't much longer until they came across a gouge in the land.

"Come on," Derek said, his voice gentle and kind. "Let's wash up in the creek."

Calling the little trickle of water at the bottom of the channel a creek was being generous. There was barely a few inches of water rolling along.

Derek pulled him down, until his knees were sinking into the soft sediment of the creek's bank. The water was shockingly cold as it sunk into the fabric of his pants and he couldn't help the startled little gasp. Without further fanfare Derek grabbed his wrist and sank his hand into the biting water. Red flowed out immediately, a cloud of blood slowly drifting down the current and he closed his eyes as his stomach rolled. Derek began scrubbing at his skin, insistent but still somehow tender. Just as he started feeling the sensation of little pins poking into his flesh from the cold, Derek released him.

Stiles opened his eyes again, pulling his hand out of the water too see the blood was gone. It was just his skin again.

They'd disturbed the creek bed and now the water was brown and murky. It had been so clear before, what a sad sight it was now..

The sound of rustling fabric drew his attention back to Derek, and Stiles looked over just in time to see the stretch of his back muscles shifting under his smooth skin as he took off his shirt and began wetting it in the water.

"What," Stiles started to ask but that was as far as he got before the shirt was unceremoniously shoved against his face. "Hey!"

"Still got some stuff on you. I'm getting it," Derek said softly. Stiles wasn't really sure why, but the gentle way Derek was speaking to him kind of made him want to cry again, which made him feel stupid and useless, which made him want to cry even more.

Derek squeezed the back of his neck again, and it was like an instant wash of calm overtook him. He wondered if Derek was doing some kind of werewolf magic on him.

"There, that's better," he said, pulling back. Stiles looked him in the eyes, captivated by how green they appeared. "Afraid there's nothing I can do about your face, though."

Stiles' brow wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

"You're face. It’s still horrifyingly ugly, but it's out of my power to fix."

A laugh pushed out of Stiles' chest before he could stop it. "What the hell, you dick. If anyone's got an ugly face around here, it's Mr. Perminate Stubble Chin."

"Oh Stiles," Derek with a tisk, tisk of his tongue. "So delusional."

"Shut up," Stiles said, slapping his hand against Derek's bare shoulder. "You like my face and you know it."

Derek's expression sank into something more serious and suddenly the playful mood between them shifted into something more intense. Stiles realized his hand was still on Derek's shoulder, the skin warm and firm underneath his fingertips. He wanted to move it away, but he was feeling a bit wobbly and was afraid if he did, he'd fall into the mud.

"I suppose it's not the worse I've ever seen," Derek said, then broke the tension by leering in an over exaggerated fashion and wiggling his eyebrows.

Stiles was about to retort when Lydia's voice cut through the air, calling out to them. Back to reality, then. He stole one last look at Derek's defined stomach before standing up and heading up the hill towards her.

 

++++

 

When forced to come face-to-face with really fucked up shit (like, for instance, a shape-shifter running around town, taking on the forms of the deceased) one tended to reflect on their life. At least, Stiles did. He worried about how long he could keep up this kind of existence without it completely destroying who he was. The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long and all that.

So, he reflected.

He thought about his friendship with Scott. It's one of the few comforts in his life that he has confidence in lasting no matter what. They'd be brothers until the end of time.

He thought about his dad, all the new gray hairs and wrinkles he'd put there recently. He loved his dad, and his dad loved him. There were so many struggles his father had faced, and he’d sacrifices made, all for Stiles. It made Stiles strive to be moral and good, the best person he could be, in honor of all that.

He didn't think about his mother. Too painful. The day after they killed the changeling he woke up in the middle of the night with tears blurring his vision and a sick feeling in his chest. He'd dreamed of walking hand in hand with his mother, the sunlight gleaming off her silken hair while the breeze ruffled her skirts. The sound of her laughter was like gentle bells being stirred in the wind. But when he'd turned his head, his mother's form melted grotesquely, like candle wax in a fire, bubbling and morphing until the dark grey texture of the creature's skin replaced her softer features, it's mouth gaping open as it leaned in.

So. He didn't think about his mother.

He did think of Derek.

Or rather, tried, but in truth he didn't know what to think of Derek. He had gone through hell and back, lost his whole family, destroyed the lives of the very people he was trying to help, and lets face it, when it came to his love life he didn't seem to have any real happy memories. It made sense, in a sort of demented way, why Derek was so distant with everyone. How the hell could he even get up in the mornings with that track record? It made Stiles reflect on how Derek had acted around him recently, and after two days of constantly nit-picking their interactions, Stiles came to a conclusion.

++++

 

"You like me," Stiles said, barging past Derek and into the loft without waiting for a response. Derek remained still for a moment before sliding the door shut and turning to Stiles. His face was contorted in obvious confusion.

"What?"

"You like me," Stiles said again, staring him down. Yeah, they were going to confront this. Stiles wasn't going to let this go on any longer.

"I'm not sure what's going on right now," Derek said slowly, narrowing his eyes as he studied Stile's face.

"Yes you do," Stiles assured, and started to tick off a list on his fingers. "You come to me when you're vulnerable and practically dead because you trust me. You take pictures of me in my underwear. You magic away my emotional pain — yeah, don't give me that look, I know you did _something._ Oh, and! And you gave me a soda."

Stiles was kind of riled up by the end, waving his hands and pacing, but Derek stayed infuriatingly still on the opposite side of the room, his face giving away nothing. Stile swallowed. He wasn't wrong, he knew he wasn't wrong, but still, it would be nice if Derek would make _some_ kind of indication here that he'd been found out and he was secretly madly in like with Stiles.

Yet as the seconds ticked by, Derek just stood there, still as a statue.

Okay, maybe he had over analyzed this whole thing a little too much. He could feel his cheeks heat as the embarrassment set in. "You tolerate me?" he revised.

Another beat of time passed, then Derek sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Stiles," he said, sounding tired, and oh god, he was about to get rejected, this was the worst idea he had ever had. He laughed, nervously.

"I'm just playing with you, man," he said, trying to salvage his dignity. He waved Derek off and walked over to the large bay window, turning his undoubtedly red face away from inspection. His mind raced for something to say, a change of subject, _any change of subject_ , but for once his stupid chatter-mouth wasn't working. A second later Derek walked over and stood next to Stiles, the heat from his body noticeable even from a good six inches away.

"Stiles," Derek said again, this time a little more growly. "I am crazy about you."

"Don't worry about it, seriously, I was just joking- wait, you’re what about what?"

And then Derek was growling again, saying, “Fucking terrible idea,” but he was grabbing Stiles by his biceps and pulling him up into a hungry mash of lips _ohgod_.

Stiles melted into, opening his mouth and making it messy.

"You smell so good," Derek snarled, and Stiles laughed breathlessly because what? But whatever, Derek could say whatever he wanted as long as he kept kissing the side of his neck like that.

"We're totally gonna sex it up," Stiles said, laughing when he felt Derek's fingers skim underneath his shirt, ticklish.

"Don't ruin this with your stupid," Derek grumbled, but Stiles could totally tell he was grinning against his collarbone.

"You love my stupid."

A pause, then, "There really must be something wrong with me," he mumbled, pulling Stile's shirt over his head in one smooth movement that made Stiles a little jealous. About thirty percent of the time he got stuck in his shirts and had to wiggle his way free just taking them off regularly. He was going to let Derek in on this little tidbit about himself but then there was a hot, stubbly mouth licking, sucking, _pulling_ at his nipple and Stiles couldn't do much in the face of that, just grip at Derek's shoulders, the shirt fabric wrinkling under his fingers, and moan. He'd never been so turned on and so incredibly happy at the same time. The mouth moved to his other nipple and holy fuck, Derek really seemed to have an oral fixation. Stiles could really get on board with that.

"Take off your shirt," Stiles said. Even though he wanted it to be all sultry command, it came out more like a desperate plea. Close enough.

"Take it off for me," Derek responded, fingers dipping below Stiles’ waistband in a teasing way. God, at this rate, his dick was going to explode before they even got to the fun parts.

Stiles pulled the fabric of Derek's shirt forward, but there wasn't any immediate sign of muscle-y goodness appearing and how did shirts work again?

Derek seemed to take pity on him because after an amused huff he pulled away just long enough to rip off his own shirt and discard it carelessly at their feet. Stiles didn't waist any time putting his hands against the warm, soft skin of Derek's chest. Seriously, he just wanted to curl up and lie down on it like a kitten in a sun spot.

He would have been happy to keep tentatively exploring the groves of Derek's very impressive muscles, until his fingertips had memorized his whole body, but then Derek was dropping to his knees. Oh. God.

He looked up at Stiles, eyes dark with lust as he leaned in and licked across Stiles' belly, right above the fabric of his jeans. Stiles' dick _throbbed_ , he'd never been so ready to blow his load. He whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get a hold of himself before he totally embarrassed his dignity, but the image of Derek on his knees in front of him was now predominately burned into his spank-bank memories.

Even the vibration of his zipper being undone was almost enough to do him in. The brush of Derek's knuckles against his swollen flesh had his toes curling in the sensation of _so hot_ _so close so good_.

And then, all motion stopped. Stiles whined, it had just started getting good so why with the stopping? Wait, was Derek shaking? His shoulders were bouncing up and down, almost like he was crying, or… giggling?

"Oh my god, if you are laughing at the size of my penis I will stab you in the eye with a wolfsbane laced knife," Stiles said, which for some reason only seemed to set Derek off _more_. "I'll have you know it is a respectable six and one quarter inches when hard."

Derek fell back, looking up at Stiles with squinted eyes as he continued to laugh. Stiles was helpless to do anything but grin back. "Come on, dude, what's so funny?"

"Stiles. What are you _wearing_?"

Stiles looked down, confused. He was wearing a god damn hard-on, that's what he was- oh shit, his Hello Kitty boxers. Of all the days to pick them.

Derek must have found something about his reaction hilarious because he started up again, doubling over with laughter. Stiles had never seen him like this, so open and genuine. It tugged at his heart strings a little. It also appeared to be contagious because before Stiles knew what was happening, he was laughing too, even while swatting at Derek's dark head of hair and telling him to stop.

This was a version of Derek no one else got to see. Who knew Mr. DarkAndBrooding could have such a lighthearted side?

"Seriously, stop it. It is not that funny.” When that didn’t get any response he wiggled his hips forward a little. “Come on, my dick isn't going to suck itself."

He should know better to taunt a werewolf with super speed, because in the next moment he had been pushed to the ground, Derek settled on top of him before he could even get his bearings.

"Dude, I could have bruised my tailbone."

"You'll live," Derek said, mouth still open in a joy-filled smile. Then his face softened, eyes gentling. He spoke in a whisper. "What you do to me."

"Does this mean I'm not getting a super-hot blow job from a super hot fellow?" Stiles asked, mock pouting.

"Not in those boxers," Derek said, completely straight-faced, which only led to Stiles’ laughing again. "But I'll make it up to you."

A hand wormed its way into Stile's boxers, fingers trailing up and down his dick in feather light touches.

"Fuck," Stiles said, arching into it. Hot, burning arousal pooled in his gut as his vision went hazy around the edges.

"So responsive," Derek said, and then he was licking into Stile's mouth while his hand wrapped fully around Stiles' dick.

A few pumps of his hand and then Stiles was coming with Derek's hand milking his cock, laughter mixed in with his moans of completion. When he was spent he collapsed back on the floor, boneless.

"Your endurance is impressive," Derek deadpanned, making Stiles snort.

"Shut up, my brain was overloaded with sexiness."

He had never seen a more self-satisfied smirk as the one Derek gave him.

"Alright Mr. Stamina,” he said, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Go ahead and come on my chest. I know you’re dying to mark me with your scent."

He was half-joking, but it must have been the right thing to say because Derek's eyes flashed a brilliant blue and he could _feel_ the primal growl from where he was petting Derek's chest. There was a bit of scrambling, then he pulled out his (holy crap, really impressive) manhood and started jerking himself off like his life depended on it. Stiles wanted to help, wanted to touch and tease and taste, but he'd barely grazed a fingertip up the underside of Derek's dick before he was coming with a snarl, painting Stile's abs with strips of come. Stile's petted him through the aftershocks, rubbing his hands up and down Derek's tense arms and stomach until he stopped growling and his eyes turned back to their human color. Derek took his mouth then, for another wet kiss full of lazy tongue strokes.

"Wow, you really showed me up on the stamina front," Stiles joked.

Derek collapsed on top of him, knocking the wind out of him and smearing his come all over both their stomachs. Which, gross.

"Can't breathe," he complained, to which Derek shifted, just barely, to ease the crushing of his lungs.

They laid there in silence for a bit as Stiles mulled over the fact that he'd just had sex with Derek (sort of). His life was fucking awesome. It would be even more awesome if he could get up and take a shower, though. It would be even more awesomer if Derek would join him in said shower.

"Hey," he said, poking Derek in the shoulder. Derek, unsurprisingly ignored him, rubbing his face into the side of Stile's neck. He was totally going to have stubble burn there later. "Come on, let me up, I wanna shower."

"Hmm," Derek said, noncommittally.

"Seriously. Oh, and you have to cook me dinner now. If I'm going to have sex on the first date, I'm at least getting a dinner out of the deal."

Derek's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

++++

 

He stayed over at Derek’s that night, and finally got his super hot blowjob.

In the morning, they fucked.

Beyond comparison, it was hottest thing Stiles had ever experienced.

He laid on his back, playing with his dick, while Derek opened him up with slow thrusting fingers. When Derek pushed them against his prostate while simultaneously licking his cock-head Stiles came with a surprised cry. Fucking amazing.

Derek worked his dick into his ass, slow and _big_ , but the feeling of it filling him up gave him pleasant goosebumps. The force of Derek's thrusts, combined with the weight of him on top, his scent, the sight of his abs flexing, the feel of his sweat-soaked skin, made Stiles so hot he couldn't hold in his moans if his life depended on it. For that instance, Derek was his whole world.

He came with a grunt, feet sliding on the sheets as he thrust _up up up_ , his hole spasming around Derek's dick while fireworks flared behind his eyes. Jesus _Christ_ , he'd never felt something so overwhelmingly good.

Afterward, Derek licked Stile's come off his stomach, and if he was going for completely breaking Stiles' brain, it was just overkill at this point.

Stiles dozed for a while, grumbling when the bed shifted and he lost the comforting heat of Derek's body next to him, but fell back asleep a second later.

A clicking noise brought him back to the world of the living once more. "Wazzit?" he said, rubbing his face into his pillow. It smelled like Derek.

Another clicking noise and this time his natural born curiosity motivated him enough to open his eyes. Derek was standing over him, an evil looking smirk painted on his face and his phone held in his hand. That was when Stiles realized two very important things. One, he was lying butt naked in tangled sheets in the bed, probably looking like he had been utterly fucked out. And two, Derek had just taken his picture.

"What are you doing?" Stiles said, sitting up and making a grab for the phone. Derek pulled it out of his reach with ease, swiping his thumb across the screen.

"Future blackmail," he said, _gleefully_.

"Oh my god," Stiles said, scrambling out of bed and reaching for the phone once more. "You did not just take naked pics of me!"

Another click, and Stiles realized he was still taking them, even while he was dancing back out of the room.

"Derek, you asshole, get back here!"

 

\-----

 

The End :D

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've done something like this. I lurked around for a bit, but I was too shy to even leave comments so I'm not really sure why I decided to try and not only write something but post it too ha ha. I'm really sorry about my grammar, I'm pretty dumb when it comes to that kind of stuff. It probably didn't help that I wrote this in 'Stiles Style" meaning I tried to make the narration overly hyper.  
> I hope this wasn't too awful and if anyone spots any mistakes or has suggestions or anything feel free to let me know. :)


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